About the Author ...

Rick Durden is a
practicing aviation attorney who holds an ATP Certificate, with a type rating
in the Cessna Citation, and Commercial privileges for gliders, free balloons
and single-engine seaplanes. He is also an instrument and multi-engine flight
instructor. Rick started flying when he was fifteen and became a flight
instructor during his freshman year of college.

He did a little of everything
in aviation to help pay for college and law school including flight
instruction, aerial application, and hauling freight. In the process of trying
to fly every old and interesting airplane he could, Rick has accumulated over
5,400 hours of flying time. In his law practice, Rick regularly represents
pilots, fixed base operators, overhaulers, and manufacturers. Prior to
starting his private practice, he was an attorney for Cessna in Wichita for
seven years.

He is a regular contributor to Aviation Consumer and AOPA Pilot
and teaches aerobatics in a 7KCAB Citabria in his spare time. Rick makes it
clear he is part owner of a corporation which owns a Piper Aztec — because,
having flown virtually every type of piston-engine airplane Cessna
manufactured from 1933 on, as well as all the turboprops and some of the jets,
he cannot bring himself to admit to actually owning a Piper.

The
other day I had a very pleasant time flying with Eric as he scoured off some
of the rust and demonstrated that he had a pretty good handle on this
instrument flying stuff. As forecast, the weather was deteriorating, so much
of the time we were in the clouds. After we landed, we sat down in a corner of
the Pilot's Lounge here at the virtual airport and, as is my practice,
individually wrote out our evaluations of the flight and then talked over the
entire session. I signed off Eric's instrument competency check and we started
paying attention to what was going on around us. Because of the weather, the
instructors had cancelled their VFR students and were dealing with their
instrument students in different ways.

One
instructor was going out with a student to fly a cross country in actual
conditions. Another instructor had called two of her instrument students to
come out to the airport and get some time in weather. One instructor said he
wasn't willing to fly in actual conditions with instrument students. When
asked why, he said the risks were too high and there was no requirement for
actual instrument time in the regulations or in the practical test guide so he
would not do it. He came into the Lounge and said he was going to spend the
afternoon right there rather than fly in the foul weather.

I was a little surprised by this, as I had received instrument dual in
actual IFR conditions and regularly gave it. A number of the pilots in the
Lounge said that they had never had any experience in clouds until after they
finished up their instrument ratings.

Naturally, not having much else to do but swill coffee, the eight or so of
us got into a discussion of whether it was appropriate to give instrument
flight instruction in instrument meteorological conditions. Of the group, a
couple pilots said that their instructors hadn't necessarily pushed them to
get through the instrument rating in the minimum time, but that when they had
a lesson scheduled on a bad weather day, the instructor had cancelled it.
Still other pilots reported taking dual regularly in clouds as they worked on
their ratings and having had the experience of flying in fairly low IFR with
their instructors in the process. One said he had taken his check ride from a
designated examiner who had given it in actual instrument conditions. All of
the instrument-rated pilots eventually got some time flying in clouds, whether
they did it during dual for the rating, on their own afterwards, or, in one
case, by hiring an instructor to go with him in the clag after he had gotten
the rating because he was unwilling to do it on his own the first time.

A Reason For Not Giving Dual In The Clouds

The instructor who did not feel it was appropriate to give dual in actual
weather had come to us from a program where he had gotten his ratings over a
period of less than two years, commonly referred to as ab initio, and
had been trained to the practical test guide standards for each rating. No
more, no less. His instructors had put the appropriate checks in the correct
boxes, made sure he could fly the airplane to the tolerances prescribed and
thus he obtained his ratings. The program was extremely well-organized, he
knew the regulations cold, and could discuss the nuances of checklists,
procedure turns, holding pattern entries and aircraft performance with anyone.
Many of us go to him routinely on technical items. However, when he started
instructing at the virtual airport he had over 500 hours of dual given, but
had never landed on a grass runway and had made only one or two flights where
he filed IFR and actually entered a cloud.

His
rationale for not taking his instrument students into clouds made sense on one
level as he did not want to run the risk of having a student lose control of
the airplane in clouds and enter a diving spiral. Further, he had a very
compact syllabus with which he prided himself in getting pilots through the
instrument rating as quickly as possible. He believed that taking time for
doing actual instrument work would interfere with that process. He wanted to
get students ready for the jobs with the airlines fast. He pointed out that
the FAA would not give check rides in actual instrument weather and reiterated
that there was no requirement in the FARs to get any time in the clag. Once
his students got hired by the commuters they would get actual instrument
experience as co-pilots and by the time they were captains would have gotten
plenty of time in actual weather.

It turned out his opinion was in the minority. Old Hack was the first to
comment. He was just finishing up an instrument rating after over 40 years of
VFR flying and scud running in all types of weather. He felt that it was
absolutely wrong for an instructor not to teach a student what it was
like in the real world. While he wasn't a flight instructor, he said he'd been
around long enough to learn that the sanitized world of the hood and simulator
reflected the real world of ragged cloud bases and erroneous forecasts about
as much as training private pilot students for cross countries in clear
weather prepared them for trying to get home from a weekend trip as the Sunday
afternoon weather went to 1,200 feet overcast and four miles visibility. He
said he'd seen too many of those pilots die when they had to deal with even
marginal weather for the first time.

A Moral Obligation of Instructors?

I
listened as the discussion expanded into whether an instructor had a moral
obligation to prepare a student for the real world. We all recognized that it
is absolutely impossible for an instructor to prepare a student for everything
that might happen to him or her outside the nest (and we knew that instructors
agonized over that very issue). However, as was pointed out by one of the
pilots, the Federal Aviation Regulations are, by law, only minimum standards.
Several pilots were uncomfortable with the idea of instructors only teaching
to minimum standards of the regulations, and no more: They had seen the
results of the ab initio programs that only teach to the minimums.
While they recognized that the ab initio training programs are under
great pressure to churn out pilots as quickly and cheaply as possible, they
also had some rather disparaging comments about the airmanship (and egos) of
the resultant product. A number felt that some degree of seasoning should be
provided to pilots who are obtaining ratings, so that they are not loosed on
the aviation world capable of the monkey motion of steering the airplane and
able to talk with ATC, but without any experience in making the go/no-go
weather decisions.

Over about an hour a consensus was actually reached (I think that was
probably a record). It was the general opinion that getting time in the clouds
before getting the rating was a good thing overall. However, a new instrument
student would not benefit greatly from flying in clouds during the first five
hours or so of dual. That is the time the student is learning about attitude
instrument flying, developing an effective instrument scan, the subtleties
needed for minor corrections, how to use trim to make the airplane go where
desired, how to add the clock into the scan and how to fly partial panel. That
time is best spent in good weather so the student can concentrate on those
basic skills without worrying about ATC or falling off the tightrope. Let's
face it; on occasion a student loses it and the instructor has to do the
balancing act of letting the pilot go as far as possible in correcting the
resultant upset and spiral before it becomes dangerous. In VFR conditions, or
in a simulator, it's not a major event. In actual IFR, even with a block of
airspace open for maneuvering, things can go sour a little too fast for
comfort. At the very least, an instructor needs some time with a student to
have a chance to evaluate the level of risk the student presents before the
two of them go poking into the clouds.

The "Oh, Wow" Factor

A Consensus Is Reached...

Our little group felt that once the initial point of training is passed,
actual time in clouds is nothing but beneficial to the instrument student. A
number of the pilots in the room recalled their sense of awe when they were
first very close to clouds, of seeing their first glory (the circular rainbow
around an airplane's shadow on a cloud). One pilot admitted that
intellectually he knew that the airplane would go right through the cloud, but
emotionally, he half expected to bounce off the cloud when he first pointed
the nose of an airplane at one.

Many
expressed the small surprises they had on first flying in clouds. They spoke
of the almost invariable bump experienced on entering or exiting the side of a
cloud, but that entry or exit from the top or bottom of a cloud was usually
smooth; or how fast they learned about how rough a ride to expect inside a
cloud from its external appearance. They spoke of how much easier it seemed to
be to fly the airplane in a cloud than when they were under the hood because
they could look around the cockpit and not have to worry about
"peeking" (yes, one peek is worth a thousand scans) outside.

Our instructor who did not give dual in actual conditions agreed, when
pressed, that he was nervous about flying in actual weather by himself simply
because he hadn't done much of it. As we talked and he found himself opening
up, he said his opinion regarding giving dual in actual conditions might have
been influenced by his own discomfort with flying actual IFR.

I found myself thinking about my own, fairly strong opinions on the
subject. Because of my profession, I've been involved in looking closely at
far too many accidents over the years. Many occurred in instrument conditions
to pilots with instrument ratings but little actual time flying in clouds. We
humans evolved on the surface of this planet and have only been creatures of
the sky since we started flying balloons in 1783, evolutionally a flicker of
an eyelash of time. A tremendous amount of what we experience in flight is
without parallel to our experiences on the ground. Our inbred, ground-based
instincts and reactions get triggered by the sensations of flight, and
unfortunately, they are often dead wrong when it comes to what is appropriate
when moving about the sky. As a result, we have to learn nearly everything
formally when we step into the third dimension; we don't have thousands of
years of innate behavior on which to rely. So, it is about as basic a rule as
there is that when first flying VFR, we go with flight instructors. I feel
that when we first fly inside a cloud it's also a wise idea to do so with
flight instructors who can help us through this massive new set of
experiences.

...Someone To Watch Over Me

In
my humble opinion, it's not a bad idea for an instructor to be there the first
time a pilot actually sees how the color of the cloud changes as one nears the
top and that on an overcast day it's very wise to have sunglasses handy for
that moment. The brilliant whiteness of the tops and the intensity of the
light after the darkness below make it tough to read see the instruments if
one isn't prepared for it. (It's one thing for someone to explain to that
pilot that the difficulty is due to the delay in the adjustment of the pupil
of the eye for the changing light conditions, and another thing entirely to
experience it the first time.) Besides, having someone to share the exuberance
you feel the first time you break out of the top of a cloud deck makes the
moment even more magical. It's also a good idea for future reference for an
instructor to be there to point out how much further they had to climb beyond
that point when the student felt they were "almost on top." At the
other end of the flight, there is an emotional component to the descent
through the clouds as one discovers the ever-increasing, almost sinister,
blackness as the bases are neared on an instrument approach and the pilot
feels the pressure build to keep the needles centered, knowing the cold, hard
ground is close. Add to that the sometimes overpowering need to urinate as the
approach nears minimums, it's not a bad idea that a pilot do it for the first
time with someone who has been there before, even if only for moral support.

Telling instrument students that the worst ice is usually near the cloud
tops is no substitute for letting them discover it is true. I am of the
opinion that much good comes from having an instructor along the first time
the pilot watches the climb rate go to nothing over a period of a few minutes,
just when that pilot firmly believes that climbing just a few hundred feet
more will put them on top. At that moment some gentle comments by an
experienced instructor may make a long-lasting impression on that pilot, such
as pointing out that estimating where the tops are without a pilot report may
not be a good idea. A good instructor will quietly pass along the phrase
uttered by John Glenn during his first space flight, "just another 1,000
feet and I'll be on top." In the event the pilot is still tempted to
linger overlong in the icebox portion of a cloud due to inexperience, optimism
about climb performance and a longing for sunlight, the instructor can take
action before the pilot learns that a block of ice has extremely poor
aerodynamic qualities.

Judgment and Survival 501, Graduate Seminar

Prerequisite: Some Weather Experience...

Around the Pilot's Lounge, I've always heard the instrument rating
described as the thinking rating. Listening to others, far more competent than
me, I've come to believe that the process of developing the appropriate level
of judgment to make good weather-related go/no-go decisions comes from having
some degree of experience with weather. I want my students to have flown
through cloud bases that are smooth, making an approach to an MDA or DH that
is a couple of hundred feet below the bases pretty much a sure thing. Then I
want them to experience the ragged cloud bases that make approaches,
"maybe so and maybe not." I take them out in actual weather because
I would like to be with them the first time the shoot an approach and, at
minimums, find that they are in and out of tendrils hanging from the bases,
due to the cooling effect of rain on the lower-level air, bringing it to its
dew point unevenly. The first time they are not sure if they are going to see
the runway, I want to be present, sitting quietly, just to be a safety net.
When they spot the runway, make a play for it, drop the rest of the flaps,
pull the power back and then lose the runway, I would like to be in the other
seat, watching. I know that they are juggling the knowledge from the books and
our discussions that they have to miss the approach; but I also know that they
feel in their guts that they can blow through this "little" cloud
and get to the runway.

...Your First Time...

I
want to be the safety net, because I've looked at too many shredded airplanes
and broken bodies and know that the particular decision those pilots are
making right then means looking death in the face, and I want them alive. The
books and lessons and lectures and hangar flying do not fully prepare a pilot
for the overwhelming desire to land that comes about when a runway is
glimpsed, even if only momentarily. Such an urge, if not resisted, can lead to
either foolishly continuing a descent while in a "little" cloud or,
perhaps even worse, trying to circle over a runway and land on it when the
vertical visibility is 500 feet or so, and the horizontal visibility is about
the same. Then, any turn they make will cause the runway, and all other visual
references, to disappear. I'm of the opinion that seeing such situations in
circumstances where an instructor can prevent a bad decision from being fatal
are more likely to lead to good decision-making by pilots once they have
instrument ratings and are on their own. Bad weather makes a powerful
impression on a pilot. Handling it correctly once makes it more likely that it
will be dealt with correctly in the future.

I want to fly in blowing snow with my students so that they can see how
incredibly fast visibility can change and how a circle-to-land approach in it,
or in any conditions at night, can provide food for the coffin worms.

I want to be in the right seat the first time a pilot flies into ground fog
in the flare (it usually happens at night), and the world goes bright white in
the reflection of the landing light. I want to be there because I've read the
studies on what pilots do when confronted with fog, and I've done it and I've
seen others do it: they shove the nose down. It's a natural reaction. I don't
know why we do it. We just do. I just want to be there to stop it.

One
in our midst said she firmly believed it was wise to fly with instrument
students, in weather, at night, so that they can get a visceral understanding
of the fact that it is often impossible to tell where the clouds are,
something that is serious if there is ice about. She admitted that the first
time she was flying along on a dark night and only realized she was in cloud
when she heard a hissing noise and saw the windshield suddenly become opaque
with rime ice, nearly necessitated cleaning the upholstery of the pilot's
seat. Making sure that happened to a pilot prior to acquisition of the
instrument rating might just, she said, cause the newly-minted instrument
pilot to make the right decision when faced with a night flight when
conditions were again ripe for ice.

"...But, the Plate Says There's Supposed to Be a Runway Here..."

More than one of the instructors said they tried to fly with instrument
students when the weather was low enough to necessitate a missed approach.
(They would do a little planning and scheming so that when the weather
cooperated, they could provide the missed approaches by making use of a
non-precision approach that had a fairly high MDA, or have the student shoot
the approach to the higher, circling minimums. It would work because home
plate has a precision approach for getting back in at the end of the session.
They wouldn't go unless they had minimums for the precision approach. No
matter what, they also made sure they had a wide-open alternate in range if
the weather went south when they were practicing.) They talked about the very
interesting psychological factors they had observed in themselves and their
students in every single missed approach in actual conditions. It was
something they simply could not duplicate in a simulator or under the hood. It
took an aircraft, clouds, uncertainty and cold sweat.

There
was that awful period of time as each pilot realized that she or he wasn't
going to get in on that approach. In fact, as we discussed the reluctance a
pilot always seemed to demonstrate in pitching up and initiating a missed
approach in the clag, we found we were comparing the stages a pilot seemed to
go through to those described by Elisabeth Kubler Ross in her magnificent
study, On Death and Dying. The pilot would first deny that a missed
approach would be needed; that runway was going to appear even though they
were at DH, or time had run out while at the MDA, and there was not a thing to
be seen. Then, at varying rates, the pilots would go through the bargaining,
promises, and so forth that Ross so artfully described, before acceptance set
in and the missed approach was even tentatively begun. The fact that the
mental journey to acceptance and action sometimes took the pilot and the
airplane well over a mile past the missed approach point was a definite cause
for concern, particularly in mountainous terrain or where there were buildings
or towers.

Our little group thought it a good idea to do our best to let our
instrument students see this whole process of denial through acceptance and
starting the missed approach, for the first time with an instructor. As the
subject was discussed, I thought of the number of instrument-rated pilots I've
met who told me they have never had an actual missed approach. I worry a
little for them, for I have been fortunate enough to learn about the dangerous
mind-set that develops when making instrument approaches in actual conditions
— that each will result in a landing.

Old Hack mentioned that on his first actual missed approach, in clouds,
with his instructor, he had gone to full power but had not started to climb.
The acceleration of the airplane convinced him that he was going up. It was
only when his instructor briefly pointed at the altimeter did Hack, with a
horrified start, realize what was going on. I thought about that, because the
effect is very real. Due to the way our inner ears are designed, we tend to
sense acceleration as a climb when we are restricted to seeing only the
instruments. As Hack spoke, I recalled a nasty fatal accident of a Cessna P210
near my house years ago where the conclusion was that the pilot did precisely
as did Hack, but without someone to point at the altimeter before he flew the
airplane into slowly rising terrain.

...Real Life Alternate Airport Considerations...

The instructors said that another reason they liked to have a session with
their instrument students shooting approaches when the weather was below the
non-precision MDA, and a precision approach was available, was because the
students were introduced to that wonderful feeling of shooting an ILS to near
minimums and getting in when the weather was crummy. Such sessions also tended
to made the relatively abstract notion of an alternate airport take on new
meaning, for the ceiling or visibility would only have to drop a bit to make a
diversion necessary, especially because they were usually in an instrument
trainer that didn't have particularly long legs. Therefore, better weather had
to be relatively close by.

Practicing in actual instrument conditions made the process of selecting an
alternate something that sank into the instrument student's consciousness and
become more than an exercise of just complying with a simplistic regulation. A
pilot taking off into weather learns quickly that an alternate selected only
because of the needs of the destination may be whistling in the dark if
problems occur shortly after takeoff and the weather is below minimums for the
departure airport. The group believed that a pilot who had trained having to
face reality would be more likely to have considered alternates for all stages
of the flight being considered. It seemed to us that such a pilot would
probably do well in the real world after jumping through the check ride hoop.

...And
Transitioning to Visual References

Old Hack mentioned an area we had neglected in our discussion. He was able
to wander down the approach path reasonably well, he said, but the transition
to visual references was sometimes difficult. Pulling off a hood was no big
deal, but on the first flight where he shot a non-precision approach in
weather, he discovered that at the MDA he had to split his attention between
the gauges due to poor visibility, and looking outside as he tried to find the
runway. He had his hands absolutely full. He said it had caused him to do some
research and learn that a number of airlines had a policy of having one pilot
shoot the approach and stay on the gauges, while the other pilot, upon
spotting the runway, took over and made the visual portion of the landing. The
first pilot remained on the gauges through touchdown in case a missed approach
became necessary at any time. It's a great idea, but for the instrument rating
the one pilot has to do it all, and it's not easy. The FAA doesn't require a
demonstration of the ability to handle this transition in weather, but, we
felt, a good instructor will do the best he or she can to teach it to an
instrument student.

Please, Not In Boomers

While I am a big supporter of giving instrument students as much experience
in actual weather as possible, I absolutely don't advocate taking a student
into a thunderstorm. That's about the most foolhardy exercise in the
aeronautical version of practice bleeding I can imagine. A session in moderate
turbulence (as defined in the A.I.M.) combined with a comment that it is about
a fifth of the challenge of flying in a thunderstorm, along with some further
discussion, should be adequate to keep all but the most idiotic out of those
monsters.

It's Up To You

As the discussion spooled down and folks started to depart the Lounge, I
thought over some of the comments that had been made. Overall, I came away
even more convinced that instructors can do a great deal for their instrument
students by introducing them to flying in the clouds. While the FAA doesn't
require such activity, I believe that an instructor should offer it to his or
her students and an instrument student should demand it of an instructor.